To interview a Kirby or not
by Tanrhys
Summary: Entering the NKRU, our interviewer struggles to find a subject. Will he ever complete his project, or are the Kirbies just too much for him to handle?


Tiptoeing through a garden of round statuettes, I began to think that coming here might not have been the best idea my little mind had come up with. "Here" of course, was the NKRU, the underground guild of the Kirbish society. Though literally underground, the crystal roof of the cavern reflected bursts of rainbow light upon everything. Shafts of light shone through holes in the rock, usually landing on one of several skillfully placed monuments. Carefully positioned torches brought the scene to life, forcing the chill of fear down to my toes and out of me. I had only came here to complete an interview. It could not be as bad as I thought.

Armed with my camera on my shoulder, the film rolling, I carefully avoiding the frozen Kirbies and approached the building that loomed in front of me. It was the citadel of the Kirbies, it's walls splashed with a myriad of colours- pink, aqua, orange, red. A pink flag flew from the tallest tower, a silhouette of the classic Kirby printed on the fabric. Though I had been told that they are able to shift at will, the Kirbies I saw around me all seemed to be in the 'raid' shape, spherical and short. This was not reflected in the size of the arch that loomed several feet above me. It was all very elaborate, this. A giant could have passed through and scarcely have to pause to duck under.

Before the citadel were the training grounds, the size of many football pitches. Several of its occupants clashed sword, tooth and fang on its sands. I could spot several other weapons, the light they reflected near blinding me. In the distanse, a large, black spork met a strange, gun-like instrument, the sound deafening. A pink Kirby sporting a green baseball cap raised a hairdryer, with a flick of a switch it inhaled the opponent, a smaller, blue Kirby. He was quickly spat out and noticed my stares as he wiped the mud from his knees.

"Who are you?" He asked me, brushing the sand from his blue hair as he approached.  
"I'm me." I replied carefully, as not to offend the spirit of floof that every Kirby is rumored to have. "You?"  
"I am Crazy Bright Blue Kirby," CBBK eyed me, a grin slowly crawling up that round face. It was quite unnerving, actually. The little creep might have bitten my face off had I not chosen that moment to scarper.

Upon pushing open the heavy doors of the citadel, I found myself pressed to the wall by a huge magnifying glass. The thing was held by a lavender Kirby who smiled at me, but by now I was having second thoughts about my plan.

"Wait! You forgot your moofin!" The Kirby shouted after me as I fled. Was that some kind of poison? I turned a corner and hid, safely in a closet. Hastily pulling the doors closed, my hand touched something else.

"Hello", murmured an ominous voice is my ear. It is best not to describe what happened next. Glossing over that event, I take you to shortly afterward, in the corridor. Bruised and humiliated, I swallowed my pride and limped past the winks and sly grins that were flashed in my direction along the way.

Eventually, I ended up at the foot of a staircase. I did not climb them, but instead stood stupefied, my thoughts now on escape. There was no way that I could go back the way I had entered, already, I could see the corridor filling with life. Whether fresh from the sands or just coming to taunt me, the crowd cut off my escape as certainly as an explosion might have. As my pulse began to skip, I found myself directed up the stairs by a short, green arm and pushed into an empty room which seemed to be safe for the moment. A relieved sigh escaped me. The whole room smelled strongly of lemons. As I turned around, I noticed the source of the smell squished on the white board. Evidentially, lemons are commonly used in place of paint balls amongst the Kirbies. I avoided stepping in a puddle of lemon juice and inched open the opposite door. As I observed the scene in front of me, I realized that this was the source of that irritating buzzing sound I had been hearing since I entered.

A number of microphones sat uselessly in their stands, others were clutched by Kirbies. Among these I noticed a red Kirby who had a giant razor blade strapped to it's back. It's voice was only marginally better than chalk scraping down a blackboard, but if the others shared my opinion, they did not show it. As they tapped their large feet, and came in on the chorus, I was reminded distinctly of radio static. Several other Kirbies sat off to one side, grouped around a drawing of a campfire. A cat-like one pressed the button of a CD player and the backing track switched. As the opening instrumental of "Barbie Girl" played, I quickly made my escape. Surely there had to be someone safe to interview?

In the next room, several Kirbies were working at art projects. A stunning white Kirby posed in a stance not unlike one of Haruhi Suzumiya, (or so I was informed) I would later be told that several Kirbies called themselves Haruhiists after the anime character, but at the time it all seemed very weird. Who am I kidding? It still seems very weird. Whether sketching, inking or penciling, everyone in this room seemed full of smiles. Except for one who was inking a cat and another who swallowed my camera upon entry. The former was sat at a computer with a sketchbook in her lap and an expression of fierce concentration on her face. The same style of work lined the walls, most of the frames contained portraits in various poses. This Kirby seemed calm, just what I needed for my first interview. With this in mind, I began to approach, but without my camera, I would have to rely on my notebook. A brown, rabbit eared Kirby passed by her, pausing to peer at her work.

"All hail Smerd!" He shouted above the quiet murmuring, which abruptly stopped. At first I could only stare at his fist, raised high and demanding attention. As a rule, I have always thought of Kirbies as cute, but in that moment I found myself shaking. As I nervously looked around, I heard several of the group echo the statement. Evidentially this 'Smerd' is another Kirbish deity. I barely had time to mourn the loss of my camera before the same brown Kirby gripped my forearms, wrenching them towards the window. I did not hear his words, but listened instead to the sound of his teeth. The shape of my camera briefly showed against the inside his stomach and I glared at him, though he was not paying attention. My eyes followed his gaze and I felt dizzy in the sudden rush of air. I stood, lifted onto the window ledge. A moment passed. A sudden pressure on my back and I found myself falling, my eyes closed in silent prayer.


End file.
